The Last Leaves of Autumn
by velveteenspirit
Summary: An old man observes the life of a young hunter with green eyes as he goes through life. Small little outside perspective study of Dean Winchester. Oneshot. Set through several seasons. Please tell me what you think, and if you like it, favourite/subscribe/review, it'd be hugely appreciated.


William Jenkins was a simple man. Never wanted for nothing but the shoes on his feet and the ice cold beers waiting for him at home at the end of a hard day's work. But he couldn't complain about the job. Groundskeeper for the local park for going on 36 years, now. It was a simple job. Paid enough, got him exercised. And for a nosy old man like William, the people he met made it all the more interesting. Seasons changed and so did his clientele. In Spring, heady young couples would talk about the future - like they had any idea. Summer brought families from all around the state, and it never failed to warm his crooked heart watching those kids get bigger year by year. Then when fall came, so did the man in the black car. Beauty of a car, he remembered when it came out. This man was not born when it came out. When William first met him, he was no man at all. A kid. Just a kid.

He was raking the first red leaves on the grass of the year when he paused for breath. Always loved the fall, so much colour and warmth. He glanced around his park in pride, and sighed in contentment. It was quiet today. Kids going back to school, adults too busy going on with their lives to stop and look around them. But one person, in the corner, on a bench with peeling paint (he knew he'd forgotten to do something) was sitting with his eyes closed looking more content than he'd ever been. For a kid of no more than 17, he looked wiser and more hardened than he'd seen anyone coming through this park. But there was no mistaking the total peace that surrounded him. William guessed trips to the park were a rare occurrence, and wandered over quietly so as to not disturb him.

Didn't make a difference though; as soon as he got within 20 feet of the youngster, one eye opened and his gaze zeroed in on him right away. William noticed there was no flinch of fear; only the tightening of muscles as if preparing for a fight. It wasn't choice, it was instinct. Apparently he passed some sort of test, because after eyeing him up and down, the boy settled back into his peaceful daydream.

"I know you're watching me, old man. Not that I'm not used to it, you understand, but usually it's more of the uh…feminine variety, if you gather my meaning."

His eyes stayed closed, but there was an unmistakable waggle of eyebrows, and William decided he liked this kid. Chuckling with his gravelly voice, he stood closer and leaned on his rake.

"Well, kid, you got sharp senses that's for sure, ain't usual a man hears me comin', even during fall."

"You kidding me? You make more noise than a freaking child."

Finally, both eyes opened and addressed the man. Green, bright green. Like the grass he nurtured in springtime. Just like the sun too: warm and refreshing, but get too close and he'd burn you, no doubt. They sat in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of life. Just as William was about to leave him in peace, the kid spoke up again.

"I like to come here, and just _be _for a while, y'know?" said with so much weariness, it wasn't right.

"I hear ya kid, ain't nothing like it. My park's good for 'just bein', but then, I'm biased right?"

The kid smiled, a glimpse of white appearing briefly before a stony, reserved expression replaced it.

"I just don't get the chance, what with…everything. Anyway, I've _been _for long enough now, they'll be wondering where I've gone. Good to meet you,…?"

A coarse, young hand extended, and an expectant eyebrow shot up. Him and his eyebrows.

"William. William Jenkins. I hope you got what you needed,…?"

"Yeah. I did. Thanks, William."

So William wouldn't get to put a name to the face, then. Alright, none of his business anyway. They shook hands briefly, then he was on his way. He looked out for him for the next couple of days, but there was no sign, he might as well've been a ghost.

The bench was painted bright green the very next day. Like the grass in his park.

…

"Well, old man, I appreciate the romantic gesture but there ain't no colour that can match these gorgeous greens." The voice came from behind him, and it had been 3 years since he'd heard it, transformed from boy to man - not just by cadence, but by hardships.

"Well, well, well, he finally returns. I was close to puttin' up a statue in your honour, boy!" Swivelling as quickly as his ageing body allowed, William looked up the kid - scrap that - man, he'd briefly encountered.

Taller by far, and built like a soldier, the man with the black car was back. He gaze was directed to the bench he'd been on, now regularly renewed with a fresh coat of green paint. Guess he has done something in his honour, after all. Closer inspection of his fleeting friend showed up bruises and scars no 20 year old should bear. William might've been nosy, but he wasn't asking, and the boy was damn sure not gonna tell, so he let it be.

"What brings you round these parts again, son?"

"Ah well, y'know how it is, I touch the lives of everyone I meet, and I had to make sure you weren't still pinin' for me." The carefree wink didn't match his slumped form. As if he knew his rouse wasn't enough, he sat down on his bench and sat. William wandered away for a while, sweeping up the new leaves. He could take a hint, and that hint was: 'I need to be for a while.' More quickly than he expected, though, the spare rake beside him was lifted up, and the weary young man was clearing up the leaves old William had missed.

"You ever been in the middle of a fight, William?" There was a vulnerability in his voice that made him glance up and study his young friend.

"Not like, 'you-forgot-the-milk-again' fight, but like a huge, _long _argument?"

He thought about it. But the life of a groundskeeper was a simple one so he replied,

"Nope. But I seen plenty of 'em tending these gardens over the years. Families at loggerheads with each other, too stubborn to stop and - excuse the horticultural pun - smell the roses. Damn shame, it is, too."

"Yeah…" The voice was resigned, and knowing, and William once again had the feeling that this new man was far too old for his years.

He turned to search into his eyes again, and found thin air greeting him, instead. Not one for goodbyes, then. The rumble of that gorgeous Impala was already surprisingly distant.

For every day for the rest of that fall, William Jenkins laid out an extra rake while he worked. But it was never picked up.

…

The next time William saw the man with the black car was just one year later. It was fall, for sure, but only just. All the new college students would be just starting to attend classes.

The man with the black car was not a college student. He sat on his bench. William hadn't noticed him at all, though he sat in his hut, surveying his park. Then as he patrolled the path, he saw the leather jacket he knew surprisingly well, and walked slowly, knowing the kid would spot him a mile off and laugh. But if he knew he was there, he made no indication. His head was in his hands, grabbing at his cropped hair desperately, knuckles white and bloody. Only a wall, though. He hadn't been fighting.

William sat down next to him and stared out towards the trees, waiting patiently. He would talk when, and if, he wanted to. But no words came. He stayed there for a long time. Long enough to worry that he was seriously not ok. And silent enough that he could've been the statue William had joked about putting up in the years before. A few minutes more, and the blonde man's head rose, perfect mask of calm and control. An easy smile crept onto his face, nowhere near reaching his eyes. Those red rimmed eyes. Green grass changing to red leaves. He stood to leave, and at the last moment, turned to William, and whispered something he nearly missed.

"_He left…"_

Then, with a broken smile, he was gone with the breeze.

William Jenkins didn't know who left, but he hoped it was to school or moving house, and not somewhere his leather clad friend couldn't follow. Or, as William feared, he would.

…

Three long years passed, and William was starting to grow tired. The job was wearing for an old man like him. But life goes on. The sound of wood on wood reached his ears, and he turned. The green eyed man was back, and with a vengeance apparently.

"Mind not taking your issues out on my park, kid?"

Furious, wild eyes met him for one millisecond before he looked away, sneering.

"Aw, William, didn't you know? I came here to _be _for a while. Because I can be. Unlike my dad. Stupid deal. Stupid car crash. Stupid goddamn LIFE!"

One of his oldest trees was taking a beating with a sharp branch, making scores and cuts along the ancient bark. He was going to intervene, but stopped when he realised the alternative could be red lines on the kid's skin, instead. So he kept quiet.

"Dad died, William. And he's left me with this hole, this gaping hole, and my brother wants me to be there for him, and I can't, not when he's looking at me like that - with _pity, _for christ's sake, and I've tried to get it out, but I can't, and I know it's not healthy, but I don't know what to do, and that son-of-a-bitch…"

That one sentence was the most information William had ever surmised from the man over the years he'd encountered him, but that wasn't important now. The kid was hurting, clearly.

"I'm not gonna say sorry, kid. I'm sure you've heard it a thousand times already. And I'm sure you miss him. But that hole you're talking about having? Fill it. With life. That's what I do every year. Where'd you think all these flower come from? My ass? You can't have growth without a little destruction. Now get. I don't know much about you, but I do know you've got a brother waiting for ya, and clearly, you need each other. Go on, get."

This time, it wasn't the young blonde who left without a goodbye. William stood and got back to work right away, hoping he'd helped his seasonal friend. It was the quiet "thanks" he heard between the crunch of the leaves walking away from him that brought a small, if fleeting, smile to his face. His eyes raised up to the sky as though checking for rain, but in his head, William Jenkins muttered a prayer.

'_Please god, don't put the kid through any more. He can't take it.'_

….

After his next encounter with the man with the green eyes, William was an atheist.

The blonde man approached him, tears freely flowing down his face, no holding back. William expected him to stop in front of him, but instead he was grabbed and held for dear life. Sobs tore through the man who crumpled beneath him. He lowered himself to the ground with him, and just stroked his hair. It was greasy, and unwashed for several days, at least, but that was clearly not important to the man sobbing loudly. He was also thinner than he remembered, skin holding onto muscle tightly. This time, when the boy repeatedly whispered '_He left…', _there was no doubt in the groundskeeper's mind about the meaning of the words. This man was alone in the world now, and he wept for him.

Then as quickly as he had started, he stopped and stood, and walked away with no goodbye or glance back. There was a fierce determination in his stride which only made William Jenkins more terrified.

The deep, ruined voice he knew too well carried in the wind, unheard by his ageing ears.

"Gotta find a crossroads. I can't _be, _like this. I'll fix it. _Gotta_ find a crossroads…"

….

William hadn't realised he wouldn't see the man with the black car again. In fact, as the car rolled up to the gate of the park, he smiled. He'd been worried that last year would've been too much for him. But then, as an unfamiliar man rose taller out of the same car, William Jenkins _knew._

He had never wanted to outlive the boy (because how else could he see him now, gone so young) with those bright green eyes, but he'd always had a feeling he might. The stranger was approaching him with as much determination as he had last seen his friend with. That they were related was clear. They just looked like family. But William remembered all too well last year's heartbroken appearance, clearly towards the loss of his brother, and yet-

"Mr. Jenkins? Hi. I'm Sam. Dean's brother."

_Dean. _Yes, Dean had suited him.

"He's dead, right? Damned kid, damn idiot."

The huge man, Sam, flinched at the short tone in which he spoke. So Sam and the man wi-_Dean _were not so alike in personality, then. More sensitivity needed. Noted.

"Sorry, I just…I knew. He'd suffered too damn much. How'd you find me? I doubt the kid ever told you about this place, or me for that matter."

A small, hesitant (and just as broken as his brother's) smile crept onto the younger sibling's face, and he said nothing. Cryptic. Definitely a family gene.

"Well, anyway, thanks for letting me know. Goodbye, Sam. Sorry for your loss."

He said sorry because he wasn't sure this time that there was anyone left to have said sorry a thousand times. And he needed it. William may not have been the brightest spark, but he saw it in those hazel eyes, the kid needed it. He turned to leave, but stopped when he heard the young man speak again.

"I don't know how to be without him, Mr Jenkins…"

With a sigh, he looked into his eyes for the last time and replied,

"I don't know how to _be _anymore, either, kiddo."

And with that, he walked slowly towards the corner of the park, where wild animals had broken Dean's bench to pieces. And he stayed there.

…..

It was 6 months later when Dean and Sam Winchester entered the park for the final time. Dean, excited to see the reaction of his oldest friend to his miraculous return, looked around the park for the familiar outline.

Not spotting him immediately, he grinned at his brother and dragged him towards his corner.

"Dean, c'mon, we've got to go. There's a hunt."

"Two minutes, Sammy, I gotta spook William with my ghost act."

He lightly jogged to his bench, pride of place now with flowers and well tended paint. Clearly, old man Jenkins had made that statue of him now. Grinning he sat and closed his eyes, remembering his first trip here. It was one of his Heaven's; he'd kept it private from Sam.

"Dean…"

"Not now, Sam."

"Dean."

The tone of his brother's voice set his alarms off and he opened his eyes to find the source of Sam's discomfort. But Sam wasn't looking at some hidden threat in the trees. He was looking at the space beside Dean on the bench. Glancing over, he saw a metal plaque. Wow, memorial to Dean and everything. Laughing, he turned to read it.

"Hey, Sammy, you ever seen a dead guy read his own memorial? No? Well, you're about to.

_To the very best man this park ever knew, (_that'll be me huh, Sammy? Huh?)

_Wil…liam Jenkins…_

_Rest…in peace._

_"__Let this be a home, where people can come and be for a while" - William Jenkins"_

Dean's voice trailed off in shock as the loss of yet another person he cared for hit him like a freight train. William had been his constant, he steadiness through the storm of his life. And now…

Sam's hand was on his shoulder immediately, providing comfort and calming the shaking he didn't know he'd been doing. Looking up with strangely blurred eyes, he saw his baby brother, and refused to let go of this final piece of his heart.

When the last leaf of fall fell from the old tree with the scars of abuse at the hands of a Winchester, and landed on the seat of the bench, Dean realised as he looked towards his little brother once more before heading for his black car, he knew just how to be.


End file.
